You Do Count
by WriteOrLeft
Summary: Sherlolly oneshots/drabbles. Some may be AU, others not. Updated as they come to me, and prompts or requests can be left in the reviews! Enjoy and thanks for reading!
1. Vanilla

**A/N:**** Hey! So my OTP is Sherlolly and I decided to write this little drabble about them. It's Sherlock's perspective of the Christmas scene. Some lines are pulled directely from the show, but the inner monologue is my idea of what Sherlock might have been thinking. Sooo, happy reading and enjoy! I will defintely be writing more of these as they come to me. You guys can even leave prompts in the reviews if you like, but nothing above like a LOW T rating, please!**

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing from the Sherlock universe. Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from ****_A Scandal in Belgravia_**** from BBC's Sherlock, but I do not own anything. All credit goes to the writers of BBC's Sherlock!**

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Christmas. Dull. I'll never understand the world's fixation with giving people presents and spreading good cheer. It's pointless and a waste of time and money.

Everyone that I tolerate is over tonight. Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade. John and his girlfriend Sarah. And Molly should be here any minute.

John's insisted we decorate the flat. It looks ridiculous and gaudy but my protests were ignored. So I settle with playing the violin. It's a Christmas song, but this was my compromise over wearing the dreadful sweater Mrs. Hudson and John wanted me to wear.

Someone knocks at the door, and immedialtely I know who it is.

"Oh dear Lord." I mutter.

Molly walks in looking like an idiot, holding two large bags.

"Hello everyone. Sorry! Hello." _Why_ she must always be so hesitant is beyond me. Why can't she ever just spit out what she wants to say?

"Uh, it said on the door just to come up."

I roll my eyes. Why does she have to say so? Just come in.

Everyone gets up to greet her, acting like she's a long-lost friend they haven't seen in ages.

"Oh, everybody's saying hello to eachother, how wonderful." I drone.

She smiles stupidly at me and begins to remove her coat.

John, ever the bumbling fool, tries to take her coat from her and instead starts gawking at her like a schoolboy.

She doesn't look _that_ attractive. If anything, the incredibly tight black dress and bright makeup looks cheap and overdone.

"Wow." Lestrade exclaims.

At Lestrade's comment and his consequent staring at Molly, I feel a strange stirring inside of me… I don't like it. He shouldn't be staring at her like that.

I call John over to the computer. The attention on Molly is bothering me. I hear Lestrade offer her a drink and do my best not to say anything.

She makes menial attempts at conversation with everyone. It's never been her forte but tonight she's even more awkward than usual. She makes a remark about Mrs. Hudson's hip that I expect she thinks is a joke and when no one says anything, she realizes her mistake.

"Oh God, sorry." I hear her say.

"Don't make jokes Molly." I tell her so I don't have to suffer through more of her blubbering.

"No, sorry." She mumbles. Lestrade offers her a drink and they start talking. Again, I feel the strange stirring in my stomach, the grip on the left side of my chest. I must be coming down with something.

And then that thing happens. When my mind and my mouth work together while ignoring what is supposed to be my heart. I cut in and keep correcting everyone. John always tells me this isn't proper social convention, but I really just cannot help it.

Lestrade says his wife and him are back together, I correct him. John says his sister has stopped drinking, I have to correct him. I don't know why. I just have to.

I decide to try and distract myself by doing deductions, and the first thing that I see is the large bags Molly's been carrying.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly. And you're serious about him."

"Sorry what?" she says, clueless as usual.

"In fact you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift." It's so obvious. The present at the very top of the bag is wrapped much better than all the other ones. She's even put a bow on it. It has to be for someone special, someone important to her.

John and Lestrade both try to quiet me, but I don't see why. It's so clear, how are they not noticing it themselves? I explain this all to everyone as Molly remains quiet and just stands there.

She does nothing to stop me, so I know I'm right.

She does have a boyfriend, and she is seeing him tonight.

That strange feeling makes yet _another_ reappearance and I am positive that the food we ate tonight was not cooked thoroughly.

Ignoring the feeling, I continue my deductions. From what I gather, Molly likes it when I show off. She is obviously attracted to me and my intelligence, so why not continue to do so? So i do.

"Obviously trying to compensate for the size of hermouth and her breasts…" I trail off as I flip over the tag and read what's written.

_Dearest Sherlock_

_Love Molly xxx_

Oh.

Something inside my mile-a-minute brain finally slows down and connects, and I realize what I have done.

The gift was for _me._ Molly dressed up for _me._ She doesn't have a boyfriend, she's done this all for _me. _Poor, sweet, stupid Molly who has never been anything but helpful and kind towards me. And I just had to go and bother her. Why do I always do this? Why couldn't I have made deductions about something else? Why is it always her that makes me feel this way? Why couldn't I have just shut up and let her enjoy her evening?

For the thousandth time I realize why everyone calls me a freak. Heartless. A machine.

I swallow the lump that has showed up uninvited in my throat and struggle to find something to say. I should apologize, I decide, but the thought comes too late.

"You always say such horrible things…" Molly says with tears pooling in her big brown eyes.

My stomach turns and I wish I could rewind the last few minutes.

"Every time. Always… Always."

I want to fix this, even though I know what I did was unforgivable.

I try to find the words inside me and force myself to speak them. Not because I don't want to. But because for once, I am utterly tongue-tied.

"I am sorry." I say. "Forgive me. Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

I lean in and kiss her softly on her cheek. Her skin is soft and she smells like vanilla and it makes me dizzy, and suddenly there are a thousand more things I want to say to her.

But I won't.

Because I'm Sherlock.

And she's Molly.

And she deserves so much better than me.

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**A/N:**** Thanks for reading! Let me know if you guys want to see anything else, or would like me to write anything specifically. And if you can, check out my other stories!**

**Reviews make me smile :)**

**-WriteOrLeft**


	2. Echoes

**A/N:**** Here's a little snippet of Sherlock trying to ask Molly out. I did get a few prompts in the reviews, and I will get to those eventually. Thanks for reading! I tried third person here, I usually go with first, so if it sounds stupid I'm sorry!**

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing from the Sherlock universe.**

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Sherlock contemplates for the fourth time whether or not he is going to go through it. His hand hovers above the door handle leading into Molly's laboratory, just barely touching it.

He quickly yanks it away. "Idiot." He mutters to himself.

He turns around and ruffles his hair. This shouldn't be this difficult. _I'm Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. I've faced murderers and criminals. Talking to a pathologist should be easy._

He circles back to the door and takes a deep breath to prepare himself.

"Just open the door and ask the question. All there is to it." He says out loud. He reaches out for the handle again and pulls it open far too quickly and easily. _Of course, the second you finally decide to open the bloody door, someone else happens to open it as well._

Molly Hooper stumbles out and trips.

Sherlock's brain seems to be in perfect working order, because he quickly catches her before she falls. His brain promptly freezes, however, when her hair brushes his nose. She smells like vanilla and sugar and a scent that he can only identify as _Molly._ He quickly rights her before he says something stupid.

"Sherlock!" Molly exclaims. "Sorry, I didn't know you were coming in today, I was just heading out. There are a few new bodies." she says pointing back to the lab. "I'm done for the day, but there are a couple lab techs in there if you need anything."

Sherlock opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally regains control of his brain. "Uh, yes. No. I mean no. I mean…" he stutters. Well, at least partial control.

Molly raises her eyebrows. "You okay?" she smiles. "You seem a little nervous."

He clears his throat and stands a little taller, putting his hands behind his back.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you. But, no, I did not come here today to use the lab or to ask for samples." Sherlock says, all business once again.

"Oh?" Molly asks. She furrows her eyebrows together.

_She looks adorable with her face all confused like that. _Sherlock thinks, and the thought startles him.

"I came here today, Molly, to um…" He stutters. "I wanted to… To ask you…" _Just spit it out, come on._

She tilts her head to the side. "Ask me…?"

Sherlock swallows and clears his throat again. Tapping his foot like he always does when he's nervous, he takes a deep breath and exhales quickly at the same time as he blurts out, "Wouldyouliketohavedinnerwithme?"

Molly's cheeks turn pink, and now she is the one to gape her mouth open as she blinks in utter shock.

_Fantastic, she doesn't want to. Why I let John talk me into doing this I will never know. Idiot. She's embarrassed because she doesn't know what to say and how to tell me doesn't want to. You're never anything but horrible to her, of course she doesn't want to have dinner with you. _

His nervousness fleets away, replaced quickly by frustration.

"It's quite alright, I understand. Sorry I asked. Good day, Molly." He turns on his heel and begins speeding away, wallowing in self-loathing and resentment. Oh boy, was he going to have a talk with John when he got home.

_"She likes you Sherlock, just go for it. She'll say yes for sure!" _John had said.

_Idiot. And you're an idiot too, for believing him._

He's halfway across the hallway and almost at the next door, when Molly calls out, "Sherlock! Wait!"

Sherlock stops, but doesn't turn around. _Now she's going to try and apologize because she thinks you probably look like a wounded puppy._

He hears her high-heels clicking on the floors, and as the sound gets closer, he forces himself to put on a mask of indifference, the face he was most used to sporting before John Watson and Molly Hooper entered his life.

Molly steps in front of him. "Wait." She says.

"I'm waiting." He says.

"What-" She says. "Sorry, what did you say back there? I- I don't think I heard you right."

Sherlock lets out an annoyed breath. He really does not want to say it again.

"Sherlock?" She asks.

He looks down into her chestnut colored eyes and immediately wishes he hadn't. He feels his mind start to go fuzzy and quickly looks down before he gets tongue-tied once again.

"I asked," Sherlock starts slowly, still avoiding her gaze.

"I asked, if you would like to have dinner. With me." He doesn't dare look up at her.

"I just-" He stops. "I like you, Molly Hooper. It's taken me a while to understand it because I am not accustomed to the certain emotions I have recently begun experiencing, therefore I was confused by them. However, after analyzing our past encounters, and seeking the advice of John, I have come to the conclusion that I… like you. And I decided the most suitable course of action would be to spend more time with you, but I understand that you don't want to. You don't have to say yes to save my pride, I completely understand that I have always been horrible towards you. I always insult you, I take advantage of you, and I barely ever thank you. It's completely fine. So, I'll just be on my way, then. I won't bother you again."

He side-steps Molly, but then stops in his tracks when Molly's hand takes his. Sherlock looks down and sees that her tiny hand contrasts greatly with his large one, but he can only think of how soft it is.

"Sherlock?" Molly says, with a hint of a smile in her voice.

"Hmm?" He says, not looking up from their hands.

"Yes." She says.

And all the noise that usually occupies Sherlock's mind fades away, to be replaced by the echoing of that one word.

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**A/N:**** Thanks for reading! Reviews make me smile :)**


	3. Experiment

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing from the Sherlock universe.**

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"Come on, pick up, pick up." Sherlock mumbles into the phone as the dial tone rings out for the second time. He paces the living area, taking wide steps and growing more and more impatient as the seconds trickle by.

On the fourth dial tone, Molly Hooper answers.

"Molly!" Sherlock shouts before she has the chance to say anything.

"Sherlock? Is everything alright? I was just about to leave to come over."

"No no. No. Stay _right_ where you are. No. Do not come to Baker Street, Molly, do you understand me? It is _imperative _that you stay at your flat. **_Do not come here_**_._" Sherlock asserts with a tone of urgency that Molly hasn't heard from him even on his most serious cases.

"What-" Molly starts. "What do you mean? What's wrong? Goodness, what's happened, did you call the police? Is everything alright?"

Sherlock lets out a deep breath_. How should I phrase this without sounding like a complete moron?_

He finally stops pacing and starts tapping his foot instead. "Um, well. _Technically_ speaking, the flat is… in one piece. And nothing's completely broken… I don't want to worry you. On the whole, everything is alright. However, in my professional opinion, it is probably best if we don't have dinner here at my flat tonight."

"Oh." Molly says disappointedly from the other side of the phone. "That- that's alright. I understand, we can reschedu-"

"Nonsense, who said anything about that? As per usual, Molly Hooper, you weren't listening. I did not say that we wouldn't have dinner, just that it isn't possible to have it here. I've called in a favor, and made a reservation at a restaurant. Not the ideal situation, I know, but believe me, it's for the best."

"Okay!" Molly says, and Sherlock can just hear the smile in her voice. He finds his own mouth stretching up of its own will. "Okay, where should I meet you?"

"I'll pick you up from your flat in half an hour."

"Right then, I'll see you."

"Bye."

"Bye."

The phone clicks off, and Sherlock tosses his phone onto the nearest couch.

One crisis dealt with, he flops himself down into the chair facing the kitchen and positions his hands under his chin, readying himself to deal with the next order of business.

Sherlock Holmes takes pride in his ability to learn and master skills at a higher speed than most people. Because of his line of work, he had been forced to acquire several new abilities and to be able to perform them at an extremely high caliber. From chemistry and anatomy to perfume detection and tobacco ash analysis, there was not a skill in his repertoire that he had not perfected.

There was one skill, however, that Sherlock had not yet acquired, simply because he had never had a need for it.

Cooking.

When he did eat, his meals were always prepared for him by someone else. His mother, Mrs. Hudson, John, and the occasional restaurant.

Before today, the need to cook had never arisen. For his first date with Molly Hooper, he wanted to do something special. Molly already knew Sherlock. He had to do something for her that she didn't know about.

So, he decided to cook dinner for himself and Molly.

_How hard could it be? _He had thought. _Nothing but throwing a bunch of ingredients together and popping them in an oven. Just like mixing chemicals, but with food._

Sherlock had been confident in his abilities. He printed off a few recipes that sounded enticing, went shopping, and got to work.

Prior to this, and besides making toast and tea, he never tried to cook, choosing to use his energy to pursue skills more useful to his work.

Sitting here, in his favorite chair and looking into the kitchen, however, Sherlock deeply regrets not having leaned to cook.

A rainbow of orange and yellow gunk is stuck to the ceiling and drips rhythmically onto the floor every few seconds. He had attempted to make squash soup for the first course, and everything was going perfectly well. He had followed the recipe to a T and it did smell quite good. The problem occurred, however, when the step came to mix the soup in a blender. Sherlock had been so wrapped up in making sure he followed each step of the recipe properly, that he forgot to put the top on the blender. The step he did follow was when the recipe said to blend at the highest speed.

It doesn't take a consulting detective to figure out what happened next.

In the midst of his culinary endeavors, he managed to burn an _entire_ chicken, make the rice so sticky that it took the shape of the pot, make soggy salad and runny mashed potatoes. All this on top of the whole fiasco with the soup.

He sighs, and gets up, deciding to leave the mess as it is. He wouldn't know where to begin cleaning up, and besides, Mrs. Hudson will probably clean it for him. He showers, and puts on his best suit. Checking, and rechecking his hair before he leaves, he throws on his coat and scarf, and heads over to Molly's house.

He knocks twice, waits a beat and then knocks repeatedly. _She should be ready, what is taking her so-_

Sherlock stops his internal ranting, and his hand stays afloat in midair when Molly swings the door open. Her hair is left down, but pinned to one side, and Sherlock decides that he likes it like this better than any other style he's seen her wear. She's wearing a blue dress, the exact same shade of blue as his favorite scarf and it brightens her already shining brown eyes even more.

_She looks beautiful. She looks radiant. She looks lovely. She looks… confused?_

"Sherlock. Sherlock!" Molly claps her hand in front of his face. "Sherlock!"

He blinks once before finally coming back to reality. _Molly's flat. Molly. Date. Dinner ruined. Angelo's instead. Right._

He coughs and stands taller. "Molly. You look nice."

She smiles. "Thanks."

"Ready?" He offers her his elbow.

She links her arms through it and they leave to hail a cab together.

Later that night, at Angelo's, after about an hour of sparkling conversation centered around corpses, cadavers, and cases, Molly finally brings up the subject of the sudden change in plans. She's had a lovely time, and she honestly can't really believe she's finally having dinner with _the _Sherlock Holmes, _and_ he hasn't said one hurtful thing to her, but the topic has been bothering her.

"So… Why exactly couldn't we have dinner at your flat?" she asks.

Sherlock smiles faintly to himself.

"Experiment gone wrong." He waves his hand as if to dismiss the matter.

"Oh… Well, I hope you figure it out. I know you will." Molly replies.

Sherlock takes a sip of his drink.

"I know. In fact, I've already fixed it. And, if I may say so myself, I think it was my best success yet."

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**A/N:**** Aww Sherlock :) Thanks for reading and please review if you can!**


	4. The Princess

**A/N:**** Woaaahhh late update. Sorry!? I've been really busy, but I'm going to try to go for at least once a week updates. Thanks for sticking with me, and while you're waiting, maybe check out my other stories? This is a little cute, fluffy Kid!Lock. Most likely the first in a series but I put it here since it is definitely Sherlolly related :) Happy reading, folks!**

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing from the Sherlock universe.**

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It was a beautiful, atypically sunny April morning in London. It seemed that the sky was out of tears from crying itself out the day before, and was in a much better mood. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and it was the sort of weather that forced a smile upon the faces of everyone the moment they woke.

On this fine day, the Holmes brothers were walking together to school. Little Sherlock was a boy of 5 years old—but if you said this to him, he'd promptly correct you, because he was 5 and half, mind you. The older half of the pair stood tall and gangly, already at the awkward stage between childhood and adulthood, and trudged him feet to school beside his younger sibling.

Neither of the Holmes brothers particularly liked school, see. They didn't see the use of it, when they could very well learn everything that was taught there on their own. But alas, Mummy and Daddy Holmes thought otherwise. Just a few months earlier, they had witnessed an argument between their children. Now, for most parents, this would not be much of a concern, but what worried them was the topic of the argument, for their children of just five and twelve were arguing over whose contributions to scientific thought were more important. Sherlock thought it was Einstein's ideas that were more significant, while Mycroft believed it was Newton's ideas. After witnessing this strange dispute, the Holmes parents decided that their children were in dire need of normal social interactions. It was wonderful that they were having intellectual debates, but shouldn't they play with other children their own ages? So the very next day, they enrolled their children in the nearest day school.

The children went along with it much-less-than-half-heartedly, if only to appease their parents momentarily. What kept them going most of the time was knowing that once they got home, they could read and study and say and do whatever they very well pleased without having to ask anyone's permission. Especially Sherlock. He absolutely _despised_ going to school. He already knew everything, and everyone was incredibly idiotic. The teacher spoke to him as though he was a baby, and he couldn't even go to the restroom without practically having to fill out a form. For a child like Sherlock who had rarely—if ever—had any rules, found this particularly frustrating.

But the rules weren't all Sherlock hated about going to school… Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone. There was another small matter that bothered him, but with a little time and effort, he was sure he'd have it all sorted. The thing was, you see, that as much as Sherlock didn't like the other children, the other children didn't like Sherlock either. The difference was, that Sherlock didn't do anything about it. Mummy had always told him not to hit anyone or to say hurtful things to other people, so he never did. It was very hard, but every time another student shoved him in the playground, or took his things, or pulled at his hair, or called him Curly-Sherly, Sherlock managed to calm himself down. He counted exponentially, or recited the Periodic Table, or listed countries and their capitals to distract himself from getting angry, or worse, starting to cry. It was very difficult, but Sherlock didn't want to do anything that would make the teasing worse.

He tried to keep to himself, because he thought that if he didn't bother anyone they would leave him alone. Sherlock would read alone by a tree, or circle the schoolyard observing the children around him on his own, trying his very best not to get in anyone's way. But they _still_ bullied him. The other children would steal his books, and throw them over the fence, or push him, or circle around him. They would laugh and call him a know-it-all whenever he answered a question in class, or throw notes at him written with all sorts of terrible things. Little Sherlock Holmes had a _miserable_ time at school, and the only thing that kept him going was him constantly reminding himself that he was smart and special. And he knew that smart and special people always had difficult lives.

He didn't know why everyone hated him so much. He thought, and thought, but could not think of one thing that he did that was so terrible that it made everyone hate him.

So he braved on, and went to school no matter how much he loathed it, knowing that one day he would have a wonderful life, away from all the mean children who hurt him.

He would come home with scratches and missing books, but never complained about this time at school to anyone. He would simply tell his family that he fell or that he lost his things. It was a horrible existence for a child as young as he, but what could he do?

So, on this particular April morning, Sherlock was _especially_ not looking forward to going to school. Because of the great weather, the teachers might let the children out for recess a while longer than usual. And _that_ meant more time for the other children to bother him. He begrudgingly walked to school, dragging his feet even more than usual and wanting nothing more than to turn around and walk straight back home, where he could read in peace and quiet. But no, he'd have to endure and _entire eight hours_ in the confine of that horrid place where he'd be taught things he'd known since before he could even walk.

Sherlock was in this foul mood when the Holmes brothers walked up to the front gates of the school. He looked up at the sea of bodies in front of him and something inside him deflated. _Just another day. I can do this. _He thought. _I'm Sherlock Holmes, I can do any-. _

Myrcroft turned to his little brother. "Alright, Sherlock, you know the drill. Wait here for me after school, and we'll walk back together. And make sure you eat you entire lunch, because you know how Mum gets when you—" He stopped, because his younger brother was clearly no listening. He was looking across the yard in the general direction of a little girl sitting on the front steps.

"Sherlock." Mycroft said impatiently, waving his hands in front of his brother's face. "Sherlock!"

But Sherlock didn't hear him, for he was completely lost to the world. Time had frozen for little Sherlock Holmes, as his gaze fell upon the most beautiful human being he had ever seen. Her brown hair was pulled back in two ponytails that were tied high up on the crown of her head and fell in a cascade of soft waves. Sherlock was sure that it would feel just like his favorite blanket if he touched it. The little girl sat primly with a book on her lap and her hands folded neatly over it, as she looked around nervously at the rest of the playground. She must be new, because Sherlock had never seen her before, and she clearly didn't know that you weren't supposed to sit on the steps. She looked so interesting, and Sherlock could not bring himself to look away. _How peculiar she seems,_ he thought. _I wonder where she came from? _Sherlock was completely awe-struck and could not form one coherent thought other than that the new girl _must_ be a princess. Perhaps she was related to the Royal family somehow. Surely, anyone who looked as perfect as she did was not just a regular girl.

"Sherlock!" He heard his brother call.

"Hmm?" Sherlock absent-mindedly hummed.

"Sherlock, what are you staring at?"

The younger Holmes brother immediately reddened and looked down at his shoes.

"N-nothing, Mikey. I was just in one of my spells, I guess. Zoned out. You know, the usual. I was just thinking. Don't worry." He said, turning to speed away. "I'll wait for you at the gate and I'll eat my whole lunch, I promise!" He called out as he ran into the yard.

Mycroft shook his head as he chuckled at his little brother's antics, and walked to join the area where his year's students were.

Sherlock, on the other hand, had run off to where the princess was sitting, but not too close. At this distance, Sherlock noticed that the girl was even prettier and all the little boy could think of doing was reaching out to pull one of her ponytails. It just looked so _soft_. But he wasn't an idiot, so he didn't.

The morning bell rang, and Sherlock proceeded to his class, and was disappointed to see that the new girl wasn't in his year. She was one year behind him, but that was fine, he decided, because he could still observe her at recess.

So, for Sherlock Holmes, the day that had promised to be a terrible one, was turning out to be a _fantastic_ one. Time flew by quickly, as he kept up the hope that he would be able to see the new girl at recess very soon.

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**A/N: **** I will definitely be continuing this one, so keep on the look out! Obviously, the "princess" is Molly. Poor baby Sherlock :( I get so sad when I think of how much he must have been bullied… Poor thing.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**REVIEW PLEASE :)**

**-WriteOrLeft**


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